He Alone Shall Lead Them
by luvscharlie
Summary: Neville Longbottom never asked to lead Dumbledore's Army, but with Harry Potter gone, they were now his responsibility, and that was not something he took lightly. Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom


_He Alone Shall Lead Them_ by luvscharlie

* * *

_"__The real hero is always a hero by mistake; he dreams of being an honest coward like everybody else."_ -Umberto Eco, _Travels in Hyperreality_

* * *

If Neville Longbottom had been told, even this time last year, that this would be what his final year of school at Hogwarts was going to be like, he would have laughed aloud… and rather hard. He was no leader. He was the shy, oftentimes bumbling, young man that most passed over without a second look. Or, rather, he had been. So much had changed for all of them, but he still wondered if his peers had chosen well in making him their leader.

Why not Ernie Macmillan? After all, he was the epitome of what a leader should be. Tall, brawny, masculine and self-assured. Of course, he was also over-confident and pompous, as Ginny had been quick to point out.

Why not Ginny Weasley? Ginny seemed to him to be the most obvious choice. Of all the members of Dumbledore's Army, she was closest to Harry, and it seemed only logical to Neville that she should take over where Harry had left off.

And yet…

They had chosen him… unanimously. Even Ernie had reluctantly agreed that Neville should be their replacement leader. _Daft, the lot of them._ What did he know about leading? Had they forgotten who he was? Were they so lost without Harry to lead them that they would even look to him for guidance?

He made his third pass down the seventh floor corridor and the door to the Room of Requirement materialised before him. He passed through it after casting a final look over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't been seen by anyone.

He moved into the shadows when he saw that she was there. It was the perfect position from which to survey without being noticed. They had all changed over the past months, but Hannah Abbott had changed most significantly of them all. Before him stood a woman who bore little resemblance to the girl with whom he had grown up. She had developed curves in all the right places and her face had lost the roundness of youth.

Neville covered his mouth in an attempt to stifle a laugh as he watched her shake her wand violently in frustration.

"Why the bloody hell won't you do what I ask of you just once? Is once too much to ask? I do not believe it is." Her voice grew in volume with each frustrated word.

Neville stepped from the shadows, unnoticed by Hannah as she continued to berate her uncooperative wand.

"A bloody swish and a couple of flicks are not too much to expect. You're supposed to do what I tell you!" She berated the wand violently once more, moving it in what could neither be described as a "swish" nor a "flick", but more of a "jab" and a "shake."

Violet sparks shot from the tip of her wand. Neville thought they were violet, but the whole thing had happened so fast. Mere seconds before, he had been crossing the room toward this girl who fascinated him. Another second and he was stiff and falling. He hit the floor in a full Body-Bind, as he heard Hannah shriek his name.

"Don't worry, Neville. Um, I'll fix it. I will." She had her wand in hand as she stood over him, which only made Neville more apprehensive.

* * *

Hannah Abbott, for all her admirable qualities, _and there were many_, was pants at casting the spells they had all been working so hard to master. She was superb at Herbology; she brewed moderately effective potions; and she surpassed them all with her vast knowledge of magical history. However, when it came to practical magic, the kind that required the use of a wand, Hannah Abbott could do more damage than… Was there a comparison for that kind of destruction? None came to mind.

Hannah had a theory about this. She said this wand _had_ undoubtedly chosen her when she had gone into Ollivander's before their fifth year to purchase a new one. In fact, Ollivander had commented that this particular wand had been in his shop for as long as he could remember. The wand had performed beautifully for her when she had tried it out prior to making the purchase. She had described the way it felt in her hand as simply right, and told him that's how she came to believe this wand was meant to be hers.

"It is time," she had told him, "to find a new way in which a wand chooses a witch or a wizard, because this old way does _NOT_ work."

According to Hannah, this wand had chosen her so that it would be able to torment her at every turn. _"Just my luck," she had said. "I would be the one to be chosen by the wand with the twisted sense of humour."_

Try as he might to dissuade her, Hannah held firm in her belief that _this wand_ made every attempt to cause her untold amounts of grief, never missing an opportunity to humiliate her.

* * *

Unable to move or speak made him feel quite helpless. If she would just put his own wand back in his hand, Neville felt certain he would be able to cast a nonverbal counter-spell and free himself.

"Okay, I can do this." Hannah dropped to her knees beside him and held her wand over his chest almost close enough to touch him. She took a deep breath, and Neville was certain he would soon find himself in a much worse condition.

Neville looked up at her pleadingly, willing her to understand what his eyes were so desperately trying to convey.

She waved her wand over his chest, back and forth in short, choppy jabs. He didn't feel anything… yet. He grew more apprehensive with each jerky movement of Hannah's wand. Death, he thought, was most certainly imminent. Neville breathed a sigh of relief as realisation seemed to dawn on her. She began to look frantically around, smiling when she located his wand where it had rolled beneath a table a short distance from where he was lying.

She placed the wand in his hand and smiled down at him. "Perhaps you should try a nonverbal spell. I fear what further destruction my wand might bring about. It appears to have done quite enough already."

Neville concentrated very hard, his wand now in his hand, and said a silent prayer for success before attempting a nonverbal counter-spell. He could only imagine the degree of his embarrassment and humiliation if a member of the D.A. had to be summoned to save him, their _fearless leader_. Some leader I am, he thought to himself in disgust. He had managed to get himself hexed by the worst spell caster among them. Yes, he thought, if word of this got round it would be counter-productive to instilling faith in the other D.A. members that he was the best choice to lead them.

He only breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the spell release its hold on him. "It would seem that you've mastered the Body-Bind Curse." Neville smiled as he raised himself into a sitting position beside her.

Hannah refused to meet his eyes, her hands folded primly in her lap. "I only wish that was the spell I had been attempting," she said in a voice so small Neville had to struggle to hear her words. She raised her eyes slowly to meet his, and they could contain their laughter no longer.

"Oh, Neville. I give up. I've been in here practising for three hours and the only thing I've managed to get this ridiculous piece of wood to do is—well I should think it obvious," Hannah said, indicating where moments earlier he had found himself supine.

Neville rose to his feet and offered her a hand, which she willingly accepted. "May I ask what spell you _were_ attempting?"

"A Bat-Bogey Hex."

The grimace crossed Neville's face before he could recover himself enough to prevent her noticing. The wand movements required for the two spells could not have been more different.

"I know. I'm hopeless."

"You're not hopeless," Neville said. "Show me what you were doing with your wand." She raised her wand, but Neville quickly pinned her arms to her sides, and maneuvered them so that he was standing behind her. He certainly hoped this position would prevent him from being hexed twice in a single day.

"Probably a smart move," Hannah said, gripping her wand and waving it wildly in the air.

"Whoa there!" Neville said, gripping her forearm to steady it. "Here. Like this." He moved her arm in a quick downward flick, then back up, using his own hand to guide her through the correct motions. Their proximity to one another was having an effect on him. It was not altogether surprising that all his nerve endings tingled. He was hyper-aware of how close she stood to him; so close, in fact, that he could smell strawberries and something he could not quite discern, though it was sweet-smelling and seemed to have always been a scent synonymous with Hannah… or at least it had to him.

He guided her through the motions twice more before saying, "Okay, now you try." He took a step back in an attempt to put some distance between them, but she followed. Hannah's back pressed against him; she took a deep breath and began the quick flick down of her wand, as he had instructed was required to perform the spell correctly. Sparks, this time orange in colour, shot from the tip of her now smoking wand, rose up to the ceiling, ricocheting and heading straight back toward them. Neville reacted quickly, grabbing Hannah around the waist and diving out of the way seconds before the area in which they had been standing moments before exploded in a fiery, orange light. Before the light had completely dissipated Neville reached for Hannah's wand and removed it from her hand. "Um, I think I should probably take that for now."

Hannah was eager to release it. "Yes, I think that would be wise."

"You know," Neville said, "I never thought I would meet someone who was worse with a wand than I was—I mean than I used to be."

"I suppose you may have met her now."

"Absolutely." Neville glanced at her out of the corner of his eye to see if he had offended her with his comment, and breathed easily when he saw that she was smiling. Hannah smiling was a sight to behold.

"It's not me. Honest. It's this blasted wand. It has a mind of its own." Hannah began to giggle hysterically.

"What? What's so funny?"

"I was thinking that I could probably end this war if I could convince the Dark Lord to simply stand in front of my wand."

At her comment, Neville found himself laughing as well. "You, Hannah Abbott, have just become the D.A.'s secret weapon."

Hannah covered her mouth as she giggled uncontrollably. "I can't imagine a weapon the other side could possibly have that would cause more destruction than me with _that_ wand in my hand."

"No, love. I feel certain you, with wand in hand, would send every Death Eater in your path running for cover. And, it would probably be a safe assumption that the Dark Lord himself wouldn't be keen to take you on with this in your hand." Neville held up her wand for emphasis.

Hannah looked over at him as her laughter subsided. "So shall we try again?"

Neville looked at her incredulously, "Have I done something in particular to make you want to do away with me?"

Hannah stood and looked down on him, her hands balled into fists that rested on her hips as she gave him a stern look. "Neville Longbottom, how am I ever going to be able to stand and fight when the time comes, if I don't practice until I get it right?"

"You're not serious? You really want to do this again? Even after that?" He indicated the charred spot on the floor, remnants of the recent explosion.

"How else am I going to learn?"

Neville sighed and nodded, conceding that she did need to learn the spells correctly. "How about we use my wand this time?"

"It won't be your wand that I take into battle with me." She crossed her arms over her chest in a defiant manner, indicating she meant business and would not be dissuaded.

"If we practice with your wand, I fear that neither of us will live to see an actual battle." The words were said under his breath, but he knew she heard him. Reluctantly, he returned her wand and stood behind her once more.

It seemed that as long as Neville guided her hand, the wand behaved, even casting the spell correctly during most attempts. However, the moment Neville stepped back so that Hannah could try the spell alone, they were both sent running for cover.

After the fifth spell had gone awry, and they were breathing heavily from their attempts over the last several minutes to escape the bright yellow light that had filled one entire side of the room, Neville said, "That's enough practice for one day, wouldn't you say?"

Hannah simply nodded as she pocketed what Neville would forevermore think of as her _Wand of Destruction_.

No longer in danger, Neville righted the table they had been huddled behind as Hannah stood on what appeared to be shaky legs. She attempted to remain upright, but her knees buckled beneath her forcing him to wrap his arms around her waist to steady her. "You okay?"

She nodded and he could feel the warmth of her breath on his skin. Their lips were mere inches apart, and though Neville feared it would earn him a slap, he leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers ever so lightly before pulling back.

Hannah refused to allow his withdrawal. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him forward. She kissed him hard, her arms locked so tightly around his neck that escape would have been impossible, had he so desired… which he did not. Neville did not have a desire to do anything that did not involve pulling her closer against him. Her tongue darted across his lower lip seeking entrance into his mouth. He complied, allowing her the complete freedom to explore him as his hand worked its way into her hair.

Their kisses were fueled not only by the passion that came with the exploration of newfound feelings, but also with the dangers that had become a part of their everyday lives. They lived with the constant danger of a War in which their side continued to suffer large losses. They might, at any point, on any given day find themselves a victim of their current circumstances or called upon to take up their wands and fight.

Prior to the end of the previous year, the War had remained outside the walls of the school. Now, the school offered them no refuge. With Snape as Headmaster and the Carrows having virtually free reign over the students, Hogwarts was perhaps more dangerous than the world outside its walls, and there were few members of the D.A. who did not have the scars to bear witness to its dangers.

But here, kissing Hannah, Neville could forget all of the horrors that continued outside the four walls of this one magical room and blissfully get lost in the warmth of her body pressed closely against him and the hot, wet kisses they exchanged, each more passionate than the last.

His mouth moved down the line of her jaw kissing a trail down her neck, and taking his time to lavish every inch of the exposed skin with his tongue, taking his cues from the sharp intakes of breath and small sighs and gasps that escaped her lips.

It took him a moment to realise it, so caught up in their snogging, but soon the burning pain in his upper thigh could not be denied. He jumped back, pulling away from her and reaching into his trousers pocket.

"Neville? What is it?"

They both gasped in horror when he pulled the glowing red Galleon from his pocket. This was not good… not good at all.

Neville never once stopped to consider that he might not have what it took to be what they needed.

The shy, awkward and oftentimes bumbling young man he had once been was nowhere to be found when Neville crossed back over the threshold of the Room of Requirement. He stepped into the role of a hero without once looking back.

Fin.


End file.
